


What Authority Can Do

by orphan_account



Category: 1789 - バスティーユの恋人たち | 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille - Takarazuka Revue, 1789: Les Amants de la Bastille - Various Composers/Attia & Chouquet
Genre: Absolute Bastard Peyrol, Abuse of Authority, Blindfolds, Does anyone have a light? cause it sure is dark in here, Forced Orgasm, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, How Maniaque could have gone, I'm so sorry, M/M, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prison, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Victim Blaming, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-03-13 18:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18946609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: How Maniaque could have gone but thank god it didn't





	What Authority Can Do

Ronan stared at the sharply dressed officer in front of him with undisguised loathing as he hung panting in his chains and the Comte de Peyrol coiled his whip as he stared back at the panting youth consideringly.

 

"It seems conventional torture will not break you. Very well, it seems I will simply have to be  _ creative _ ." He beckoned sharply to the loitering guards, "Leave us. I will deal with him personally." 

 

There was some uneasy shuffling as they made themselves scarce. Then, with practiced ease, he reached up and deftly undid his cravat, pulling the smooth length of satin from his neck without breaking eye contact with his prisoner. Ronan started nervously as Peyrol closed the distance between them, cravat in hand. His eyes widened as Peyrol brought the fabric to his face, realizing the man intended to blindfold or gag him. 

 

Ronan thrashed his head wildly, trying desperately to keep it at bay only for his captor to give him a vicious backhand. He slumped back against the wall, momentarily stunned by the force behind the blow, allowing Peyrol time to roughly tie the strip of satin across his eyes with a cruel smirk. 

 

"We could have done this the easy way Mazurier," he said conversationally as he stepped back and Ronan gingerly shook his head, trying to regain his bearings, “However now you get to play by my  _ personal _ rules." Peyrol's voice dropped into a dangerous purr, causing Ronan to shiver despite himself as he followed the sound of the man's voice. 

 

Without warning, the whip snapped out, the very tip catching him across the shoulder in an expert flick, causing him to yelp in shock, a second just barely leaving a stinging welt along his ribs and a third shortly after clipped his ear, making him jerk and twist with a whimper. 

 

All three strikes were just grazes, what was the man trying to prove? 

 

"Yes, Ronan Mazurier, now I will show you pain so divine it will  _ almost _ be pleasure."  Ronan tried to stop himself from mewling slightly at those words, the silky way his name rolled off the bastard's tongue. 

 

It came out as a strangled moan a few seconds later as leather clad fingers fisted in his hair, jerking his head up. 

 

The Comte's hot breath washed over his ear. "By the time I'm finished with you you'll  _ wish _ that I had simply beaten you" 

 

Then he stepped away, the next strikes coming at random as he twisted in his chains. Ronan whined as the latest strike flicked out and caught his nipple and his face grew warm as he realized his body was  _ responding _ to the treatment. 

 

He desperately hoped his tormentor wouldn't notice, however his heart sank as he heard a dark chuckle. 

 

"Well, well. It seems this won't be as  _ hard _ as I thought." Peyrol mused as he trailed a hand down Ronan's chest, pausing to tweak his still stinging nipple, making the younger man groan before reaching down to grab his hardening cock through his cheap cotton trousers. Ronan yelped as his hips instinctively bucked into the contact and his struggles began anew.

 

"N..No! No don't!" He panted as Peyrol stroked him.

 

"Why fight it Mazurier? Your body doesn't lie, you want this." 

 

Ronan's cheeks burned with shame as Peyrol's hand slipped into his trousers, bare skin meeting smooth leather as he began to jerk him off in earnest, drawing a moan from the young man as he leaned his head back against the cold stone wall. 

 

Just as he felt the first jerk of his impending orgasm a hand clamped cruelly around the base of his cock, denying him release. 

 

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm not done with you yet. You don't get to come until you  _ beg _ for it and only then will I grant you release." Peyrol tsked mockingly as his captive twisted and fought desperately, seeking climax. 

 

Ronan could almost taste the dark grin on the bastard's face as the urge faded and he started stroking again, only to deny him at the very last second with the command. "Beg. If you want it, beg." 

 

The cycle repeated agonizingly. 

 

After the third time, tears started to flow, making Ronan grateful for the blindfold. 

 

After the fourth denial he broke. "Please... Oh god please... Let me come please it hurts please PLEASE!" He gasped, begging incoherently, causing Peyrol to chuckle in response. 

 

"Good boy," he murmured as he eased off the pressure and a few deft strokes later, he finally allowed Ronan to climax with a yell. 

 

Ronan slumped senselessly in his chains, his chest heaving and his knees unable to support him. He hoped this would be it, that the man would leave him to his shame, having gotten what he wanted. 

 

His hopes were dashed as he heard footsteps and the quiet clink of keys before his wrist was firmly grabbed and the cuff removed and then the other wrist received the same treatment, leaving Ronan to crash helplessly to the floor with an agonized yell. 

 

His abused shoulders protested the sudden change, which was only followed by another as his hands were dragged behind his back and cuffed. A strong hand pulled him onto his knees and he heard the soft rustle of clothing before the blindfold was roughly pulled from his face. 

He blinked at the suddenness of it before his eyes focused on the intimidating length of the other man’s cock. Ronan nervously licked his lips and flicked his eyes up to meet Peyrol’s. He was watching the disoriented younger man with a dark, hungry smile. Something about it made Ronan’s breath freeze in his chest. 

 

As his thoughts steadied, a thought sprang to his mind, dangerous, but worth the risk. 

 

“If your life holds any value to you, you will not bite me.” 

 

“What? Like I’m going to survive this anyway?” He’d already been shipped off here, Peyrol’d already...God, he didn’t want to think about it. No one would want him alive. The least he could do would be to make sure that Peyrol remembered it.

 

“That remains to be seen.” Peyrol’s voice was unwavering, not giving anything away, but it was still enough to make Ronan wonder. Could he get out of this one? And if he did, what would the cost be? He wasn’t going to live the rest of his life as Peyrol’s  _ plaything _ . ( _ If we lose our dignity, it’s the end _ . God really did have a sense of humor, didn’t he?) 

 

Ronan looked Peyrol’s cock down again, eyes flicking between it and his cold eyes. He almost wondered why Peyrol didn’t do what he had the whole time and just grabbed him and forced him to suck him off. It wouldn’t be a change for him. But then, he realized, that wouldn’t be the point. 

 

Hesitatingly, he leaned forward, unsteady with just his knees for balance as he took the Comte de Peyrol in his mouth. At first, he had no idea what to do, struggling to fit it in, scared of tripping or choking. It wasn’t particularly big, at least from what  _ reference _ he had, but it was still intimidating and alien in his mouth, especially when he didn’t have his hands to guide him, cold iron biting against his almost-numb wrists. Instead, he just kept leaning forward, hoping that he’d be happy, hearing Peyrol hiss as his tongue nudged against it almost by accident. 

 

Despite everything else, Ronan felt a little bit of smugness at that.  _ Not so high and mighty now, huh, Peyrol?  _

 

Sure, he pretended to be in control, but in the end, he wasn’t that much different than anyone else. If his goal was to show that he had some kind of power over Ronan, he’d failed. 

 

That feeling lasted for only a few minutes as a gloved hand fisted his hair, digging into his scalp as Ronan found himself being forced to work at the pace that Peyrol set, his throat revolting against him. 

 

“It’s a pity that you chose to side with the rebels. You could have made a good living on your knees.” 

 

From where he was, Ronan couldn’t respond, fighting back the tears that had begun to edge along his eyes while he tried not to choke to death.

 

God, that would really be it, wouldn’t it? The brave revolutionary, defeated by an errand girl, dies choking to death on the Comte de Peyrol’s cock while he’s half naked, covered in his own seed and shivering from the cold. 

 

Peyrol took no notice, only guiding Ronan up. “I might have even been tempted to keep you.”

 

Ronan had never been so happy to taste salt in his life. He was close, he had to be. This would be over, at least...for a little bit. 

 

He tried to think of everything he could, anything to make this go away quicker, swirling his tongue along the head, tracing along the vein that covered the underside, small licks and long strokes, whatever he could manage to fit in.

 

Peyrol made a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a dark chuckle. “I would almost think—that you were—enjoying yourself. You—need control. You—hardly know—what to do—with yourself—without—it.” 

 

Which each thrust, he came closer and closer to losing the pace, growing erratic and frenzied, and with each one, Ronan felt his hopes raise that this would be the one. Finally, with one last, deep thrust, he came, Ronan’s mouth flooding with a salty, thick liquid. 

 

As Ronan sputtered and choked at the mixture of cum and spit that forced themselves down his throat, Peyrol nonchalantly cleaned off his cock with a black silk handkerchief that he pulled out of his pocket, a small, content smile on his face. 

 

Ronan glared at him, aware that he probably looked ridiculous with cum still smeared across his face and covered in bruises,his jaw already aching and sore from where he’d been forced to try to try to fit the bastard in. 

 

In response, Peyrol simply dropped the handkerchief at his feet. “Perhaps you will be more cooperative tomorrow. Good night, Ronan Mazurier.”

 

Ronan waited until after he was gone to curl up, shamed sobs wracking his body.

**Author's Note:**

> Maniaque is such a horny song. I'd apologize but ya'll knew what you signed on for.


End file.
